Worst-Case Scenario

I once read somewhere that the best way to deal with irrational fears and anxieties is to walk yourself through the absolute worst-case scenario you can imagine. The theory being, I guess, that once you see how ridiculous and unlikely it is that that scenario will occur, your fears will subside. OK, let’s give it a shot!

I am afraid that I will go into labor suddenly and early. Like, say, in the middle of Target. I can’t decide if it’s worse if it happens in public or when I’m by myself, but either way I’m afraid it will happen during rush hour when my husband’s at work over an hour away. Maybe, to add to the horror, my water will break and gush all over, causing my shoes to squish when I walk, as happened to my friend L.H.

[Perhaps I should make this a choose-your-own-adventure story: “You are in a very long line at the supermarket. Your water breaks. Then...

A) Your toddler son, who is with you, takes off down the candy aisle and refuses to listen to your increasingly urgent pleas to follow you out of the store.

B) You run out into the parking lot and discover you’ve locked your keys and cell phone in the car.

C) You forget entirely about your toddler son, who is waiting alone and un-mittened outside his preschool in the snow.]

Never mind, that’s too hard. So, anyway, I’m afraid I will be caught unprepared and alone (I just decided that’s worse) in sudden labor. Even though last time I was in labor for a bazillion hours and it took me DAYS to get to 10 cm, this time I’m sure I’ll be like one of those women you hear about who give birth in the back of a taxi. I won’t have time to wait for my husband, to arrange childcare for my son, or to get an epidural.

Also, I’m afraid that if I go early, I won’t even have had a chance to pack my bag for the hospital or install the infant car seat. There I’ll be, with my poor little taxi-cab newborn, shivering and dressed in rags. Or at least in an unflattering hospital gown.

In my worst-case scenario, my husband gets stuck in traffic, or maybe with a flat tire, I can’t reach anyone on my I’m-in-labor phone tree, and I’m forced to leave Miles with our scary neighbor. He is subsequently scarred for life and forever associates the birth of his sibling with being abandoned by Mommy. No amount of therapy can cure this.

As for me -- if I do make it to the hospital, that is -- I get stuck again with the mean midwives who tell me I’m “pushing wrong” and no one to hold my hand or feed me ice chips. Worse, someone has got the radio tuned to an easy-listening station (Kenny Loggins – aahhh!!!) and I’m too parched to protest.

Then, if and when the baby is finally born, since my husband is still MIA and I’m out of commission, one of the nurses will randomly assign the baby a name and my child will be forever branded “Walter” on his birth certificate.

As you can tell, I have plenty of irrational fears and anxieties about the impending birth of my second child. And in fact, instead of putting me at ease, this little exercise has stirred up some new ones. What if a mean and/or incompetent doctor is on call that night? What if they discover at the last minute that I’m actually having twins? What if they mix up the charts at the hospital and in a case of mistaken identity I get deported to Mexico and never see my babies again??

Clearly, the person who came up with this “worst-case scenario” exercise did not have someone like me in mind.

RECALL O’ THE WEEK: Did you all know the peanut butter recall includes Clif Bars, Lara Bars, Luna Bars, Famous Amos and Keebler cookies? Check out the growing list of recalled foods here.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Our good friends’ 11-mo.-old son badly burned himself on an artificial fireplace at a friend’s house. The doctors said tons of kids come in with 3rd-degree burns this time of year because the glass fronts of gas fireplaces can reach 400+ degrees. Here’s some more info to help you protect your kids.